Edith Matilda Thomas

The Day-Dreamer

    There's a day-dream strange and sweet,
      Softly hovering in the air:
    Now it stays the restless feet,
      Now, it smoothes the wayward hair.

    Now, it droops the curly head,
      Propped upon the window-sill--
    Parts the lips of rosebud red,
      While the eyes with fancies fill.

    Sunbeams from the summer sky
      Kiss the arm so round and bare:
    There's a day-dream sweet and shy,
      Softly hovering in the air!

    Is that dream of field or wood,
      Mossy bank, or violet dell,
    Thrush's nest, with downy brood
      Lately prisoned in the shell?

    Comes that dream from fairyland,
      Blown about in wondrous ways,
    Like a skein of gossamer fanned
      By a troop of laughing fays?

    Or, upon some elfin brook,
      Wing of dragon-fly for sail,
    Passing many a wildflower nook
      Did it drift so light and frail?

    Little dreamer, if I dared,
      I would say, "your day-dream tell!"
    But it never can be shared,
      And one word would break its spell!